


Outset

by Piinutbutter



Series: Suddenly, Demons [2]
Category: Marathon (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bonding, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/pseuds/Piinutbutter
Summary: Life on the run begins for a troublemaking demon and his reluctant human companion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the amazing comments on the first part of this AU. <3 It made me so happy to get them, and they were great motivation. :D

Durandal’s newfound cockiness wilted as he approached the gates of the nearest village outside the Sanctuary’s jurisdiction. The human walking at his side glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow when he started to lag behind.

“You know,” Durandal said, coming to a stop, “we could just sleep under the stars. It’s warm out.”

The human snorted. “And get our faces eaten by wild birds? No thanks. And I’m not staying awake just to guard your ass. I need sleep too.”

“Wild birds attack people?” Durandal had only ever heard of them destroying crops. He’d thought they were kind of cute whenever he saw them flocking in the sky over the Sanctuary.

The human didn’t look impressed. “Lords, how sheltered are you?”

Durandal bristled. He knew what the humans told him and what he was allowed to learn. Not knowing some...random animal trivia didn’t make him sheltered.

“Point is,” the guard said, “We’re sleeping somewhere proper. Unless you’re having second thoughts about your genius escape plan?”

Durandal swiped at his arm. “Don’t say that where other humans can hear!” he hissed. A human couple walking arm-in-arm out of the gates glanced at them curiously.

“Gee. For a ‘nice, obedient demon,’ you’re pretty violent.” The human rubbed his arm in feigned pain.

“Just. Don’t draw unnecessary attention to us, alright?”

“Says the guy with horns and a hyperactive tail.”

Durandal deliberately stilled the restless, unconscious swishing of his tail. Damned thing had a mind of its own.

Perhaps sensing the genuine anxiety behind Durandal’s words, the human put a hand on his shoulder. “Look. It’ll be fine. We’ll both be thinking clearer after some rest. Just keep your head down and let me do the talking. You’re terrible at negotiating.”

Durandal bit back any further rebuttals. He kept his gaze lowered and his hands folded demurely in front of himself as they approached the guards at the gate.

“Good evening,” a gruff, elderly man greeted them. “You’re out awful late.”

“Travel plans got delayed,” the human said. “I hope your inns aren’t all booked?”

“Not at all. You’ve got plenty to choose from.” His words were directed at the human, but he kept looking at Durandal. “Mind if I ask what your business here is?”

“Just a stay and a meal, really.” The human gestured at Durandal. “He’s needed a few temples away, so I’m providing an escort. Healer demons are vulnerable, you know?”

Durandal tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He was no healer. The human was lying for him to make Durandal seem less threatening. Of course, he discarded the sentiment a moment later - it wasn’t for Durandal’s sake. As long as he was the human’s companion, less suspicion on Durandal meant less trouble for the both of them.

“Naturally,” the man said. “I’ll just need your names for the records, then you can head two roads down to the nearest inn. Marianne runs a good place.”

The human’s smile was strained. “Sure thing. I’m John, and this is-”

“Durandana,” Durandal blurted out. No doubt the Sanctuary would spread word of his escape. He didn’t want to make himself any easier to hunt down than necessary.

The human gave him a look that couldn’t have been more clear if he’d spoken the words aloud: _Durandana? Seriously?_

“Well then, John and Durandana, welcome to Hyre.”

They walked into the village proper. As soon as they were out of earshot of the old man, the human broke into a grin. Durandal couldn’t help but notice that his harsh features looked a lot less intimidating when he smiled. “You couldn’t even change the first two syllables?”

Durandal couldn’t bring himself to be too offended. It was a terrible alias. “Hey,” he countered, “don’t tell me ‘John’ is your real name. That’s so old-fashioned!”

“You’re right. It’s not.” The human shrugged. “But I have no idea what my real name is, so it’ll have to do.”

That...wasn’t the response Durandal was expecting. “Care to give a little more context?”

The human - would he respond to John? - sighed. “Let’s get a room first.”

Marianne did, in fact, keep a good place. The first floor of the inn was empty at this time of night but for a drunken traveler passed out face-down on a table, and Durandal paid their way into a small but clean room. A simple bed had never looked so inviting.

"I'm going to take a bath," John announced. "Don't run away or set the inn on fire."

Durandal's witty response consisted of a yawn. He crawled into the bed and nestled into one side, still fully clothed. He went barefoot, so there was no need to take off any shoes. The headache that had been plaguing him had receded to a dull pang in the back of his skull - hopefully nothing that would keep him from sleeping. He intended to stay awake and question the human, but by the time his footsteps returned, Durandal could barely keep his eyes open.

John must have noticed his exhaustion, because he didn't say a word. Durandal was facing away from him, so all he heard was shuffling and the creak of the bed as the human joined him.

Durandal firmly willed his tail to behave tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elephant in the room: I finally caved and gave 'my' security officer a name! John because John Doe, and also because I wanted the blandest, most everyman name possible. (Vague osmosis tells me that John might be the real name of the protagonist in the Halo series? But I haven't played enough Halo to have that association, and by the time I remembered that fact, I'd already grown attached to the name, so...he's John now. :P)


	2. Chapter 2

Whether from exhaustion or relief, Durandal slept more soundly than he had for weeks. He woke well into the afternoon, and was greeted with rays of sunlight on his face and a very much awake, very much naked human at his side.

Durandal sat up sharply, staring in surprise. The lower half of John’s body was covered by the sheet, but Durandal could still see plenty. Most prominently, the dark skin of the human’s bare arms, chest, and stomach was coated with deep, vicious scars. Durandal couldn’t begin to guess what weapon had made them. 

John finished stretching his neck and rolled his shoulders until the bones cracked, turning to Durandal and taking in his scandalized expression. “Something to say?” the human challenged, probably expecting a question about the scars.

“I expected you to be wearing clothes,” Durandal blurted out.

John exhaled a small laugh and gestured to the guard’s uniform he’d tossed on the room’s small table. “I didn’t exactly bring night clothes on my date to get kidnapped, and there’s no way I’m sleeping in that.”

Ah. Of course. Durandal needed to stop reading into things.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” John asked. “I thought demons were supposed to be all about the whole sexually liberated, comfortable with your bodies thing.”

A small smile came to Durandal as those words called up memories of his and his siblings’ first few weeks in this realm. Tycho and Leela had walked around with nothing covering their chests for the first few days, until their flustered guardians enforced something of a modesty code. (Durandal had always covered up enough for human standards. He got cold too easily.)

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Durandal said, unsure if it was a lie. “Just surprised.” He averted his gaze so as not to stare at the human’s scars as he crawled out of bed. As soon as he stood up, his stomach announced to the general vicinity that it hadn’t been fed for nearly two days. Durandal hadn’t eaten since the morning before he was put under house arrest.

“I agree,” John said as Durandal wrapped an arm around his stomach in embarrassment. “I’m starving.”

“Sorry,” Durandal muttered. “I didn’t bring food.” If they’d been somewhere with an open garden, Durandal could have rushed the growth of anything growing in the ground and made them a meal. But he doubted the villagers here would take kindly to a demon stealing their vegetables.

“But you brought money. Stay here and I’ll get us something.” John climbed out of bed, and Durandal steadfastly did not look in his direction until he was dressed. The human departed with an order to Durandal not to strangle anyone while he was gone, which earned him a death glare.

Left to his own devices, the reality of Durandal’s situation finally started to sink in. He was free. Sure, he had to be careful or he wouldn’t be free for long, but he was no longer chained to the Sanctuary’s bidding. Once John stopped being a necessity, Durandal wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. Except...

John returned to see Durandal standing by the window, stroking the white stone around his neck with a troubled expression. 

“Hey, that’s pretty,” the human commented, setting a bagged loaf of bread on the table. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, this?” Durandal cupped a hand in front of the stone, ineffectively hiding it from sight. “It was just a gift.”

John smirked at his reaction. “A gift. From someone special?”

“You could say that.” Bernhard would no doubt object to the label. The healer had made his disdain for the frivolities of romance clear on more than one occasion. But it was easier than explaining the truth.

“Did they know you were leaving, or have you just pulled off the most awkward breakup possible?”

“I...he knows. And he’s going to leave, too. We’ll find each other.” Durandal wasn’t certain who he was reassuring. 

“Well, hey, that’s good. I’m happy for you.” The human sounded genuine, at least. “Now get over here and eat before I eat for both of us.”

Durandal tore off a handful of bread for himself and joined John sitting on the bed as he ate. “Thanks, um...John? Is that what I should be calling you?”

John rubbed his neck. “Oh, yeah. I owe you an explanation about that.”

“You really do.”

His smile was sheepish. “It’s not that exciting a story. First of all, yes - John’s as good as my name now. I don’t know what name I was born with, because I can’t remember anything before about fifty moon cycles ago.”

Durandal nibbled at the bread crust in his hand. It was fresh and warm, and his stomach bubbled happily. “And that’s because...?”

“I have no damned idea. The first thing I can remember is when I woke up in a field with no idea who or where I was. All I knew was that I felt like I’d been put through a round in a hell full of the feistiest demons, and I looked like it too.”

“The scars?” Durandal muttered, and John nodded.

“No idea what did _that_ to me. I’ve grown to like them, though. They add character.” He yawned and took a few bites before continuing. “I wandered like a drunken fool until I stumbled on some family cottage in the middle of nowhere. Guess they managed the farms out there. I’m still surprised the old couple took me in - I must have looked like trouble made flesh. They gave me food and medicine, and in return, I stayed for a while and helped with the manual labor.”

“And the name?” Durandal prodded.

“They needed something to call me, and I didn’t know what to tell them. The husband suggested ‘John,’ and his wife laughed about it, but I liked it and it stuck.” He grinned. “Just before I left, she let me in on the joke. It was the name of their old dog.”

Durandal would have been offended about that, but clearly it didn’t bother this human. “So, you left them. How did you end up at the Sanctuary?”

“Well, I knew I couldn’t live off hospitality forever. I asked them where I could go to get work - ideally, somewhere I could help people. Like they had helped me. They pointed me to the Sanctuary, and the rest is history.”

Durandal nodded, thoughtful. “That sounds...disorienting. At least my memory loss was planned.”

John paused mid-bite. “Your what?”

“Oh, well. You know how it goes. Demons get their memories of their former lives erased once they start their service of humans.”

John’s brow furrowed. “Who told you that was standard procedure?”

“My guardian,” Durandal said, reaching for his braid just to have something to occupy his hands once he’d finished his bread. He wished he hadn’t said anything.

Both confusion and anger touched the human’s eyes. “Durandal. I don’t know how they do it outside the Sanctuary, but that is not something we were ever told about. Do you know if Tycho and Leela also...went through that?”

Durandal shook his head. “I never asked them about it.” Why would he? It was a useless line of conversation. What had happened, happened. Bernhard had assured him that the spell, drastic though it seemed, would ensure Durandal adjusted to the human realm without the pain and melancholy of homesickness. It was especially important for such a sensitive demon as Durandal, he’d said.

“So you don’t remember what your life was like in your own realm?”

No. No, no, _no_. Durandal recognized the tone creeping into the human’s voice. There was little Durandal hated more than being pitied. He couldn’t stand it, not coming from the Sanctuary attendants, and especially not coming from someone who’d just discussed his own lack of memories like it was no big deal.

“No. But unlike some people, I remember my name.” It was a cheap blow and he knew it. It ended the conversation effectively, though. John tightened his lips and finished his meal in silence. And if Durandal felt a little bit guilty, he’d never admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to think "Canon-Typical Strauss" should be a warning tag.


	3. Chapter 3

Their plan was to get back on the road after eating, but the weather wasn’t on their side. The sunny afternoon turned overcast as they paid the innkeeper, and before they could take five steps out of the front door, it was pouring rain. Human and demon looked at each other, nodded, and wordlessly walked back inside. They could hang out at the bar until the rain passed over. Walking through muddy fields was no one’s idea of a good time.

John grabbed the exhausted-looking bartender’s attention and ordered a drink Durandal had never heard of. Durandal could smell the alcohol just sitting beside it. John took a hearty swallow of it and turned to Durandal with an irritating smile.

“Are you even allowed to drink? Does it upset the delicate balance of your magic or something?”

Durandal didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he called the bartender over and got the same drink for himself. Then he downed it in one go, keeping eye contact with the human all the while.

It was not the best decision he’d ever made. The drink was _strong_ , and Durandal coughed and sputtered even as John gave him a small round of amused applause. That broke the tension lingering between them somewhat, and they sat in comfortable silence as the bar around them filled with locals and other travelers taking shelter from the rain. Neither Durandal nor his companion actually got drunk - alcohol tolerance was an unexpected benefit of demonic embodiment, and John knew exactly when to stop unless he wanted to impair his reflexes. But with nothing better to do, the humans around them had no compunctions about drinking themselves out of their wits. Durandal jumped when a gruff man plopped down beside him and put a sweaty hand on his shoulder.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out on his own?” the man drawled.

Durandal shook his hand off. He swallowed his first instinctive response, which was catty and didn’t fit well with his plans of staying out of trouble. Instead, he pointed to John. “Not on my own. I’m with him.”

The man looked John up and down. “You sure? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, he’s been ignoring you all night. That’s no way to treat a demon, y’know?”

“We’re quite alright, thank you.” John had set his glass down and was now staring at the patron with an expression that said _go away_ so vividly Durandal was honestly impressed.

Whether out of drunkenness or sheer lack of tact, the patron didn’t take any of their hints. Probably he was being spurred on by his friends at the other end of the bar, who were staring at them with a mixture of dumb amusement and anticipation. “Aw, don’t settle for that!” He slung his arm around Durandal’s shoulder, yanking him close. Durandal had to grip the bar to stop himself from falling out of his seat. “I can pay you whatever he’s offering, and show you a better time, too.”

Durandal shoved him away. He braced for a reaction from his collar before remembering with a spark of giddiness that it didn’t care what he did. “Look,” he spoke, loud and agitated, and was interrupted by John’s voice.

“He’s mine,” the human said, quiet but firm. “Kindly fuck off.”

He was just trying to help, Durandal knew that, but those words rubbed him every wrong way. “I’m not yours,” Durandal grumbled, uncaring for their cover story. These drunkards wouldn’t care.

“Whoa-hoh!” the patron cackled. “Look who’s getting mouthy. I reckon someone needs a spanking.”

In the blink of an eye, Durandal was on his feet and ready for a fight. He didn’t have to take this, not at the Sanctuary, not here, not-

Durandal almost fell on his ass when he was yanked back by his hair.

“Behave,” John reminded him, Durandal’s braid wrapped around his knuckles. Ugly laughter rose up from the other end of the bar.

“You-!” Durandal bared his teeth and wrapped his claws around the human’s wrist. He was about to tear into his companion, agreement be damned, when a female voice piped up from the entryway.

“Excuse me!”

All eyes turned to the young woman who’d spoken. Her cloak and boots were absolutely soaked from the storm, her short hair plastered to her forehead. Her gaze was fixed on Durandal, determination in her eyes.

“Sorry if I interrupted something,” she said, giving John a judgmental look. The human let Durandal’s braid fall from his grip with a shrug. “You’re Durandana, right? Please say yes.”

“Um,” he muttered, before remembering the name he’d given at the gate. “I mean, yes? That’s me.”

“What do you want with him?” John asked.

The woman ignored him and grasped Durandal’s hands in hers. “I need a healer. Please, come with me.”

 

* * *

 

“Sorry,” the woman muttered as she led them to an alley in the middle of the village. It was kept mostly dry by a pair of overlapping roofs overhead. “I know this must look suspicious.”

“You’re telling me,” John muttered. His hand was quite noticeably near his gun, and the woman didn’t complain.

“I needed to talk somewhere private, and it looked like you weren’t having a good time back there.” She gave a sympathetic glance to Durandal, who tried not to look embarrassed. It wasn’t his fault humans were bastards.

She smiled. “Sorry about that. I know you’re not from around here, so you probably don’t know. Demons don’t have the best reputation in Hyre. We’re not really big enough to summon any powerful demons of our own. Most people’s only exposure to them comes from the brothel outside town.”

That explained a lot. “It’s fine,” Durandal said. “What do you need healed?” He hoped it wasn’t anything major. Durandal had some healing magic, but anything close to life-threatening was far beyond his caliber. That was Tycho’s domain, and Tycho was...probably not very happy with his brother at the moment.

“Also,” John added, “Mind telling us who you are, exactly?”

The woman leaned against the alley wall and sighed, clasping her hands together. “My name’s Asha, and my baby sister is dying.”

Damn. Durandal’s tail flicked anxiously. “I’m not sure I can-”

“Hear me out, please. Meri’s sick. It’s bad, but it’s normal. She could be healed easily, I know she could. But my mother and this stupid, superstitious village are hung up on their traditional medicines. They don’t trust magic. I wanted to take Meri to the Sanctuary, but it’s too far to journey in a day - my mother would notice she was gone.” Asha took Durandal’s hands again. What was it with humans and touching? “I visited my father last night. He works at the gate, and he told me how strange it was to see a healer demon pass through. I’ll pay you whatever you ask, just _please_ try to help my sister.”

Durandal looked between Asha’s pleading eyes and John’s neutral expression. “Do whatever you want,” John said, his lip curling. “After all, you’re not mine.”

That got the smallest of smiles out of Durandal. He turned back to Asha and squeezed her hands. “I'll try. Where is she?”


	4. Chapter 4

John burst out laughing at how lost Durandal looked, holding a human infant in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” he teased. “I thought fertility was your thing.”

Did Tycho tell _everyone_ about that? Durandal glared at him and went back to trying to find a comfortable way to hold the squirming, crying bundle of girl he’d just been handed. “I’ve helped pregnant people. The results of their pregnancies, not so much.” Humans didn’t bring their babies to him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen one up close, and he’d certainly never touched one.

Asha knelt beside Durandal’s chair and helped settle Meri down. “I’m sorry. She used to be quiet, but since falling ill, she must be in so much pain.”

Durandal nodded. “I can feel her fever from here. I have to figure out the root of it, and then the spells needed to fix that. It might take a while.”

“Say no more.” Asha planted a kiss on her sister’s flushed forehead. She stood up and ushered John out of her family’s bedroom. “We’ll give you some space to focus. Call if you need anything.”

Durandal opened his mouth to ask...he wasn’t sure what. For one of them to stay, maybe, but what good would that do? John gave him a shrug and mouthed _good luck_ on his way out the door.

And then Durandal was left alone, in a strange human’s house, with a strange human’s infant in his arms.

He looked down at Meri and sighed. “What in the hells am I doing?”

Meri blew an agitated spit bubble at him.

 

* * *

 

“Can I make you tea?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” John settled himself at the table in Asha’s dining room. Her family had a nice house, well kept and filled with expensive-looking furniture. They would have no problem paying the Sanctuary’s fee for a visit with Tycho.

“So, your mom hates magic that much?”

Asha set about making herself something on the stove. “It’s not so much magic itself as who usually practices it. I told you, we don’t have a lot of demons around here, so people’s opinions on them can be...pretty strong, based on whatever minimal experience they have.”

“And your dad? He hates demons too?” He thought back to the man at the gate, how he wouldn’t stop looking at Durandal.

Asha laughed. “No, my father loves demons. Too much.”

“Huh?”

“Father spent years cheating on my mother with demons from the brothel, until he finally left her for one. As you can imagine, mother holds quite the grudge about it.”

“Ouch.” John glanced around the house, quiet but for the muffled sounds of Durandal muttering behind the bedroom door. It might have been a spell, or it might have been curses of frustration. John didn’t speak magic. “Where is your mom, by the way?” It would be awkward enough if she walked in on a stranger lounging in her house, to say nothing of the demon.

“She works in the evenings and through the mornings. Being the captain of the town’s guard is a tough job.”

“You’re the kid of two guards? Guess you got your career planned out for you.”

Asha smiled into the tea she was pouring. “And spend my life patrolling around a boring town whose worst crimes consist of nosy neighbors stealing each other’s chickens? No, thank you!”

“C’mon, being a guard isn’t so bad. Sometimes you get to pick on demons.” He was making a joke, but Asha didn’t seem to take it that way. Her smile fell away, and she wrapped her palms around her teacup.

“About that. When I walked into the inn, you and Durandana...”

It took a minute for him to remember what she must have seen. “Oh, the hair thing? I needed to stop him from setting those assholes on fire.” He paused. “Not that he can set people on fire.” Could he? John would have to ask.

Asha frowned. “That’s fair, but...promise me you’ll be kind to him?”

John raised an eyebrow. Telling Asha about the whole kidnapping thing would definitely fall under the category of ‘bad idea,’ but he was tempted to do it anyway.

She raised her teacup to her mouth, decided it was too hot to drink, and put it down. “It’s just...I’ve seen some of the demons my father took home. I’ve seen the one he married. So many of them look worn down, resigned to their lives. Durandana still has a spark of life in his eyes. I don’t know what you are to him, and I know it isn’t my place to tell you this, but don’t...don’t tear him down.”

John looked at the table for a moment. Then he gave Asha a formal nod.

“Alright, you have my word. But trust me, I don’t think I could tear Durandal-” he covered his slip with a cough, “-Durandana down if I tried.”

 

* * *

 

John was a few minutes away from lying down on Asha’s floor and going to sleep when the bedroom door opened. Durandal had been in there for what felt like ages, and when he finally emerged, he looked a mess. The hair around his forehead was falling out of its braid, his face was sallow and covered with a sheen of sweat, and even his tail was drooping behind him. Still, the demon managed a confident smile when he said, “It’s done.”

Asha stood up so quickly she nearly knocked her chair over. Durandal waved her inside the bedroom, and though nobody had invited him, John followed.

“Meri, sweetie? How do you feel?” Asha cradled her sister to her chest, clutching at her fat little fingers. The kid wasn’t crying any more.

“It’ll take an hour or so for her temperature to go down,” Durandal explained, “but the fever was only a symptom of a larger infection. And _that_ is out of her system now, I’m sure of it.” Even though Durandal was leaning against the nightstand, clearly exhausted, his chin was held high. He was so proud of himself. It was kind of adorable.

Asha’s eyes flooded with relief. “You’re a blessing,” she told Durandal. “Tell me how much I should pay you, I’ll give you anything.”

Meri kicked her legs and made a gurgle that, to John’s ears, sounded unimpressed. Asha grinned to hear it.

Durandal cocked his head in thought. “Hm. How about...” he trailed off, and went quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Um,” Asha volunteered to break the stretch of silence. “If you need some time to decide, I can get you tea? Or food?”

Durandal didn’t respond, still staring blankly ahead of him. John reached out and nudged his shoulder. “Hey. You there?”

“I’m fine,” Durandal mumbled. He promptly collapsed and took the nightstand with him.


	5. Chapter 5

Well. Shit.

Asha stood by awkwardly as John confirmed that Durandal was still breathing. “He’s alright,” John assured her. “He’s always been kind of fragile.” Maybe not _always_ , but as long as he’d been at the Sanctuary, John had heard gossip about Durandal being not quite right. It wasn’t his business, so John had never gone prying, but now he wished he had. He had an unconscious demon on his hands and no idea how to fix it.

“He could rest here for a little while, but my mother...” Asha bit her lip and looked out the window. The sky was tinted with the approach of sunrise.

“Nah. I’ll take him back to the inn.” Hopefully the walk through the bar would be less eventful this time.

“Then take this too.” Asha handed him a pouch of coins that felt satisfyingly heavy. In another time and place, John might have turned her down - been a gentleman about it all. But given his current predicament and Durandal’s general inclination towards getting them both in trouble, he had a feeling the money would come in handy down the line. “And promise me you’ll take care of him.”

John winked at her. “I’ll do my best. He’s tougher than he looks.”

Having said that, he looked down at the limp pile of demon on the floor and realized just how far out of the picture walking was for Durandal right now. Karma must have taken note of John’s earlier teasing, because now he had to fumble his way into carrying Durandal out of here. A bridal-style carry didn’t work; Durandal’s tail dragged on the ground and threatened to trip him up, and his horns poked painfully into John’s arm. He couldn’t exactly piggyback someone who couldn’t hold on. In the end, he settled for tossing Durandal over his shoulder. The demon couldn’t complain about the indignity of the position if he wasn’t awake.

Asha saw them to the door and gave one more grateful goodbye. The rain had mercifully stopped. John made his way back to the inn, ignoring the curious stares he got from the few early bird neighbors who were out and about at this hour. As soon as he’d secured a room again, he dumped Durandal on the bed and pulled a chair up to the bedside. John pressed the heels of his hands against his temples.

“What do I do with you?” he muttered. He’d been trained to protect people...with violence. He had basic medical training, but all of it required supplies he didn’t have on him now, and ‘fainting demons’ hadn’t been covered in the training program. He took a deep breath and reasoned with himself. Cause and effect. Durandal passed out because he overexerted himself using healing magic. If exhaustion was the cause, there was nothing John could do to help besides wait and let him rest. Right? Right.

Still, after a few minutes of restless pacing, he had to do something to keep himself busy. He checked Durandal’s forehead for a temperature and found none. He pressed his ear to the demon’s narrow chest and listened for anything abnormal in his lungs. Nothing. Pulse - regular, if a little on the slow side. John sighed and adjusted the sheets around the demon so he was tucked in properly. He’d check in again in half an hour.

“Just don’t die on me, you bastard.” Because then John would be a random idiot who deserted his job and let a criminal demon escape, all for nothing in the end. It felt better to be an outlaw on the run. At least an outlaw had a purpose.

 

* * *

 

Demons didn’t dream. That was something Durandal had bothered to ask his siblings about, and he’d learned that none of them experienced the vivid nocturnal visions humans spoke so casually of. They simply stopped thinking once sleep took them, and regained their senses when it released them.

That didn’t mean Durandal was sharp and coherent the moment he woke up. He still had to wade through the tenuous, hazy realm between consciousness and unconsciousness, where his awareness was muddled and uncertain. So when Durandal felt sheets around his body and a calloused hand touching his forehead, he knew he was back in Bernhard’s tent. He’d fainted again. Of course. What was wrong with him?

He had no desire to wake up and deal with his inevitable headache right away. He kept his eyes closed and idled in and out of sleep. In one moment of lucidity, he felt firm fingers checking his wrist clinically. But the next time he came to, those fingers were resting on his arm. Not examining, just...holding. A gesture of care. Affection, maybe.

Durandal didn’t know what had prompted the sudden intimacy, but he’d certainly take it. He wound his own hand out from under the tangle of sheets and wove his fingers through Bernhard’s, minding his claws. Their human warmth was nice. Comforting. He could get used to this.

“Uh.”

...That wasn’t his guardian’s voice. Durandal opened his eyes.

“Uh,” John repeated, his hand twitching uncomfortably in Durandal’s grasp. “Morning to you too?”

Durandal pulled away and sat up so quickly he almost whacked himself with his own tail. At least _that_ had behaved itself. “Sorry. Sorry. I was just...”

“Dreaming?”

“No. But...” Durandal sighed and rubbed his neck, feeling the ache start to build in the center of his skull. “Ugh. Never mind. What happened?”

“You fell on your face and saved a kid’s life. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Great.” Durandal crossed his legs and went about fixing his thoroughly mussed braid. “I got paid for that, right?”

John snickered. “That’s what you care about? Here.” He tossed the money pouch in Durandal’s lap. “Now, since we’re asking questions: What the hells was that? You freaked me out. I had no idea what to do.”

Durandal shrugged. His shoulders were pulled in, close and defensive, when he did so. “A symptom I’ve been experiencing lately. Bernhard was trying to figure out a cure, but his research was interrupted when his patient had to run away in the middle of the night. So as not to get murdered, you know. Would have been a terrible inconvenience.” Maybe it was the headache putting him in a mood, or the enormous stress he’d just put on his body to heal another’s, or the humans from the bar, or the fact that the Sanctuary was probably sending people to find him and kill him right now and...alright, a good number of things were putting him in a bad mood.

“Oh! That reminds me,” Durandal said, a smile cutting through his haggard expression. He climbed out of bed and stood next to the chair John was sitting in.

The human looked up at him. “What? You need something?”

“Yes.” Before John could react, Durandal grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and yanked him out of his chair. He let John fall to the floor with an offended shout and dusted his hands together. “Now we’re even.”

 

* * *

 

When the pair left the inn for good mid-morning, sun was shining apologetically on the still-damp village. They got directions to the next village over and were on the road heading for Hyre's main gate when a woman’s voice spoke from behind them.

“Excuse me.”

This felt...familiar. John’s déjà vu didn’t get any better when he turned around. The woman who’d hailed them resembled Asha to an eerie degree, down to her short, scruffy hair and sharp features. She couldn’t have been too old, but her face was aged with the marks of stress and hard work. Between the family resemblance and the uniform she was wearing, it wasn’t hard to figure out who they were speaking to.

“Yes?” John asked, polite and cheery. “Can we help you, miss?”

“You can.” Her voice was ice cold. The captain of the guard stared them down and put a hand on her hip. “You can tell me what, exactly, you were doing with my daughter.”


	6. Chapter 6

Well. _Shit._

How did she find out? Had Asha sold them out? That made no sense, if she wanted her sister to be healed. No, Asha’s neighbors had definitely seen him and Durandal coming and going. And she had mentioned they were the nosy type...

John squared his stance and gave Asha’s mother a smile. He could tell from the way her jaw was set that she'd come here convinced of their guilt...of whatever sin she imagined they'd committed. But the only thing they were guilty of was providing medical care. They had nothing to act ashamed about. “I assume you’re referring to Miss Asha? She asked us for assistance. We were helping her around the house, that’s all.”

Durandal gave him a disbelieving glance. That...did sound pretty suspicious, now that he thought about it.

“That’s all, is it?” Asha’s mother looked John up and down, then turned a far more judgmental stare on Durandal. “I suppose you were ‘helping her around the house’ as well?”

Durandal pursed his lips, averted his gaze, and nodded. Wow, they were bad at this.

“That’s funny,” the captain commented. “Asha’s a good girl. Has lots of friends around the neighborhood. I have to wonder why she’d solicit strangers for help, particularly one of your kind.”

Durandal broke down and sighed. “Actually, if you must know, we were-”

John clapped a hand over Durandal’s mouth. From what he’d heard, this was not a woman who’d take kindly to hearing that a demon had handled her baby.

The captain wrapped her fingers around the handle of the sword at her side. A sword? Damn. They were old-fashioned here. “What,” she repeated, “were you doing with my daughter?”

Durandal yanked John’s hand away from his face, digging his claws in for good measure. “We were saving your child’s life, is what. Lords know _you_ weren’t going to do it.”

Oh, fuck.

The captain drew her sword. Its point ended up only a few inches from Durandal’s neck. “You touched my little girl?” 

John did his best to step between them without getting himself skewered. “Alright then! There seems to be a misunderstanding here.”

“I understand perfectly.” The captain’s voice was deceptively soft. “I understand that a demon entered my home without my permission, associated with my daughter, and violated an innocent young girl with his _magic_.” She spat the word like a curse.

A vein in Durandal’s temple pulsed. He stared the captain down, keeping his chin raised in defiance of the sword at his neck. “Meri was going to die. Would you rather have gone home to your little girl’s corpse?”

Of course Durandal had to gain a spine at the worst possible time. John wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when the captain tried to stab the demon. Which was good, because he had time to shove Durandal out of the way.

John made one last try for peace. He didn’t want to fight this woman, not when their goal was to keep a low profile, and curious villagers were already gathering around them to gawk. He raised his palms and said, “Look. We don’t want any trouble.”

The captain raised her sword again. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have caused it.”

Great. Just great. John dodged her strike, but didn’t reach for his gun yet. No way was he going to shoot to kill. It would be best to just incapacitate the captain, but then they’d have to try to escape the village, and with the attention they were attracting, that wasn’t going to be easy.

John jumped back as a blade grazed his shoulder. Right. He could worry about the aftermath of kicking someone’s ass _after_ kicking their ass. 

Either John was getting rusty, or Asha’s mother was a lot stronger than she looked. John tried to disarm her and nearly got his arm broken in the process. He stumbled back from another swipe of her sword that came dangerously close to his face. It was just hitting him that he might actually be in serious trouble here when a crackling noise filled his ears. Moments later, a blast of energy knocked both humans off their feet. 

Durandal was standing a few feet away, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else’s body. 

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” John called.

“I didn’t know I - look out!”

A kick to his stomach knocked the breath out of John’s body. The captain stood over him, sword at his throat. John had no idea how she’d recovered so quickly - Durandal’s magic had numbed his limbs.

“I was planning to be lenient with you,” she said, “if you’d just handed the demon over.”

Her sword arm twitched, and Durandal shouted something John couldn’t hear. Then something slammed into him, and his ears filled with a roar.

His first thought: _Damn, death really is cold._

His second thought, as he started struggling to breathe under the weight of the icy water around him: _Why did I leave my job again?_

John’s eyes were open, but all he saw was roiling darkness. There was no clear up or down, just lots and lots of cold. He probably would have died for real if a pair of claws hadn’t hauled him to a surface filled with fresh air. 

“Oh lords, oh lords I am _so_ sorry, here, here, don’t worry, okay, sorry, alright, here, it’s fine...”

That was definitely Durandal rambling, but it was still pitch black, at least to John’s eyes. John could barely control his muscles, but at this point, that could be hypothermia’s fault as much as it was Durandal’s.

Durandal laid him out on the ground - it felt like lumpy stone. Then he muttered something that sounded vaguely magical, and a soft glowing light spread outward from the demon’s hands. At least John hadn’t gone blind. That was a plus. 

Durandal met his eyes. It didn’t escape John’s notice that the demon was mostly dry. “Um. Sorry about that. But, hey, I got us out of danger?”

The laugh that got from John ended in him coughing water out of places where water definitely shouldn’t be. When he could talk again, he looked around the area they’d landed in. Some sort of cave, loaded with stalactites that dripped gooey, thick water in a slow, off-beat rhythm. 

“Durandal?”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate the rescue, but where in the hells did you take us?”

Durandal’s sheepish smile looked mildly monstrous in the flickering light his magic provided. “No idea.”


	7. Chapter 7

Neither of them were particularly in the mood to go exploring a mysterious cave. Especially not when John was still shivering uncontrollably, clumsily trying to rub feeling back into his numb limbs. Durandal did his best to help by summoning a tiny ball of flame, but without anything flammable nearby, there was no way to start an actual fire that dispersed actual heat.

“You might want to turn away,” John announced. “I’m never going to get warm when my clothes are soaking wet.”

Oh. Right. Durandal cursed himself for not realizing that sooner. John would have been better off with an actual healer.

“Here,” Durandal offered, unfastening his coat and shrugging it off his shoulders. “It’s dry.”

The human looked pleasantly surprised at the gesture. And maybe at something else, given the way he was staring.

“You have nice arms.”

Durandal’s tail thumped the ground. He tossed his coat at the human’s face. “I - they’re _arms_. What’s so special about them?”

“Calm down, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just that I’ve never seen you walking around without being all covered up. You’re not as scrawny as you looked under all that fabric.”

Durandal folded the arms in question and looked away to let John change in peace. Thankfully, the guy kept his pants on - Durandal wasn’t giving his away. 

“Hey. Thanks,” John said, Durandal’s cue to turn around. The demon’s coat was definitely too small for the human’s broad shoulders, but it stayed on him. John snuggled himself into the warm fabric with a sigh. Silence fell for a minute while both of them considered their situation. John broke it first.

“So, that teleportation thing was your fault?”

Durandal shrugged. “I guess. It was unintentional, the first time. I didn’t know I could do something like that, just like I didn’t know I could do the,” he waved his hand, “explosion thing.”

“Do you think it’s tied to your collar failing? Those things are meant to seal your more dangerous powers, so now that you’ve sabotaged yours-”

“I didn’t,” Durandal insisted.

“Whatever. Now that it’s not doing its job, maybe you’re rediscovering what you lost when you came to this plane?” 

Durandal looked down at his hands. “Maybe.”

It was strange thinking of it that way. What he’d lost. He didn’t remember what he’d been in his old life, so had he really lost anything?

Durandal was startled out of his thoughts when a large human scooted over to his side. “Excuse me?”

“I’m still cold. You’re warm. Do you want me to stay here and get sick and never get your ass out of this place?”

Durandal _hmph_ 'ed and let himself be leaned on. He was pretty sure his body couldn’t have been a comfortable pillow, but to his disbelief, the human was out like a light in a few minutes. (Was sleeping safe in his current state? Hells if Durandal knew. It felt cruel to wake the guy up.)

Besides, Durandal’s arm was falling asleep and his shoulder was sore. As gently as he could, he extracted himself and laid John back on the ground. Then he stood up and stretched. He couldn’t laze around here forever. Hopefully he could find an exit before John woke up. Then the human could eat his comment about being the one to get Durandal to safety.

The area they’d landed in was a small dead end chamber that was dominated by a pool of dark, murky water. Durandal wandered down the only available path. The tunnel was narrow, and the ground grew more uneven the further Durandal got. He winced as the soles of his feet were poked and jabbed by the more pointed rocks. Bare feet were fine for the smooth stone and soft grass of human dwellings, not so much for wherever this was. When he came to the first fork in the road, he flipped a mental coin and went left. 

He wondered what had built this place. It couldn’t be natural; the paths were too deliberate for that. But humans would have made everything bigger, smoother, easier to navigate with their bulky equipment. And they would have put in light sources. 

Durandal started to get his answer when he rounded a bend in the tunnel and stepped on something that cracked beneath his heel. 

Eggs. 

A _lot_ of eggs. 

Durandal stepped back in disgust as a slimy gray substance oozed out of the broken egg and between his toes. He’d walked into another dead end, a vaguely circular chamber piled high with translucent eggs the size of his head. Through their milky white shells, he could see larvae twitching. 

The back of Durandal’s neck crawled with the touch of hundreds of invisible feet. He assumed it was revulsion at the sight in front of him. Until he turned around.

He hadn’t heard the thing approach. It towered over Durandal, its head lolling on a thin neck as its bulging eyes examined the demon. It was no creature Durandal had ever seen before. A giant insect, only humanoid in the most generous sense of the word. Its stickly limbs were coated in a slimy green-gray skin. 

Familiar species or no, the body language for ‘pissed off’ was universal. And the squish beneath Durandal’s foot as he stumbled back in shock drove home that he’d probably just squashed someone’s baby.

“Sorry?” Durandal offered weakly.

The insect screeched something incomprehensible to Durandal’s ears. One of its arms lashed out and gripped the demon’s neck.

...Maybe John wasn’t going to eat his words after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Durandal acted on shock and instinct alone. As the strange insect creature began to lift him by his throat, Durandal wrapped his palms around the thing’s slimy wrist and squeezed.

The dark cavern was filled with a flash of white light, followed by a trilling shriek and the foul smell of burning flesh. Whatever blast of power he’d channeled into the creature’s skin, Durandal hadn’t been spared from it; his neck was instantly cold and numb from the force of the magic, and he struggled to wheeze in a breath.

Breath could come later. The important thing was that the insect had released him. It stumbled backwards, disoriented and likely temporarily blinded from the light. Durandal seized the opportunity and ran back the way he’d come. He scrambled over sharp rocks, and in his haste, forgot to duck under the low tunnel ceilings. His horns scraped against them, jarring his whole body, but all he could think about was getting away from that _thing_ and out of here as quick as possible.

Durandal was hoping John had stayed put where he left him. The last thing he wanted was to have to go searching for the human in these tunnels; especially if, gods forbid, John had run into trouble himself. In fact, John met him halfway. Literally. Halfway back to the dead end where they’d arrived, Durandal saw the silhouette of a figure when rounding a corner, and he was running far too fast to stop himself from smacking right into the human and knocking him over. Durandal’s yelp came out in sync with John’s _oof_.

There was no time for apologies. Durandal scrambled to his feet and pulled the human up with him. “We need to leave. Now.”

John, for once, didn’t question his judgment. He took one look at the panic on Durandal’s face, nodded, and motioned for him to follow as he headed down a fork in the path. “I saw light and felt a breeze, but it was too high for me to climb. This should take us up.”

The route did take them up, but it was long, narrow, and did nothing for Durandal’s lingering panic. He kept glancing over his shoulder, but they encountered no one else on their trip to the surface.

It was still cold and wet outside, but Durandal had never felt so grateful to feel his toes sink into muddy grass. Adrenaline gave up on him about ten steps out of the cave entrance. “Fuck,” he muttered, and sat down then and there. He didn’t care about the mud ruining his clothes. He needed to get at least one proper, deep breath in. He’d been practically hyperventilating the whole way.

At least John seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. He knelt down, patting Durandal’s back but otherwise letting him alone to gather himself. After a few minutes, he spoke, gesturing to Durandal’s neck. “What happened?”

“Someone wasn’t happy about us invading their home,” Durandal said.

“I could guess that,” John said. “But, what _happened?”_ he repeated, gesturing emphatically at his own neck.

Durandal raised his hand to his throat, expecting to feel burned skin around his collar.

He felt burned skin. But not his collar.

Confused, Durandal ran his fingers all around his neck. Instead of the clink of claws on metal, there was only the soft, vulnerable texture of irritated skin. “It’s gone,” he muttered, more to himself than to John.

The collars were supposed to be invincible. They were able to withstand any weapon a demon could throw at them. But if Durandal’s hadn’t been working right, then maybe a good blast of magic had been enough to do the job.

“It’s _gone_ ,” Durandal repeated, the thought making him giddy.

John looked a little more conflicted. “Well, uh. Congrats? We’re gonna have to start covering up your neck around other humans, though.”

Durandal truly couldn’t care less about other humans, right now. He climbed to his feet and stretched, rolling his neck. Savoring the feeling of cold air hitting skin that, for as long as Durandal could remember, had been trapped beneath a symbol of subservience to humans. “Let’s get out of here,” Durandal said, a grin on his face.

“Sure,” John said. “Do you have any idea where ‘here’ is?”

Durandal looked around at the landscape of tall, jagged mountains and low, thick grass.

“No idea. We’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

Inside the caverns, a grieving Pfhor mother picked up the thin piece of silver that had fallen off the demon intruder. She turned it in her hands, feeling the strange magic that flowed through it.

She didn’t know much about demons, but she knew enough to know that the High Council was interested in their abilities. In spite of her burns, her still-blurry vision, and her lost larva, the mother felt a bit of happiness as she pocketed the necklace and scuttled back to the Nest. She was sure the Council’s researchers would offer a handsome reward for an authentic artifact of demon power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and thus our not-so-heroic heroes embark on the next chapter of their journey. Which I will not write at this very moment, but will write at some point. :P


End file.
